Pages

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

"I can't feel my face!" I thought, as I felt my face, wiping off the sprayed snow. Five-day-old stubble does not quite fulfill the biological purpose of a real beard. Or a scarf, but I didn't have one of those either.

A more correct subvocalization might have been "My face can't feel.", but it was cold, and I was tired. I had just fallen down trying to descend a particularly steep part of the slope. I wiped the snow off of my face, and put my glove back on, retrieved my missing ski, and descended the rest of the way without incident.

The day began with a phone call. Heather called to say that she wasn't going skiing after all. I tried to call Laura, but I kept getting her voicemail, so I just hung up and went back to bed for a while. I got up a while later, and decided to go skiing on my own. I made myself some breakfast, and then headed off. On the way, I called Doug to ask where to go. You see, I've never gone skiing, and I wasn't familiar with the lifts. There are three ski areas at Snoqualmie Summit with different sets of slopes. Since I hadn't ever skied before, he recommended I start at the conveyor belt, which was at Central.

I found Central, put on my boots, and headed up to take a look around. I found the conveyor belt pretty easily. It was a mostly flat area with a gentle incline and several groups of people teetering on their skis and snowboards. You know what they say, "When in Rome..." So, I went to the top of the slight incline and teetered along with them. I had never skied before, but I had heard lots of theory on the subject. When you learn to ski, the two most important things to remember are: pizza and french fries. To go slow, you point the front tips of your skis inward, making the shape of a slice of pizza. To turn in this configuration, you shift your weight onto the foot pointing the way in which you wish to go.

Parallel turnining is like french fries. It's a bit trickier, but the idea is to have your skis parallel, or very nearly so. Actually, the skis should be slightly open. You lean on the outward foot, and guide the turn with the other. The trick, as far as I can make out, is to shift from one direction to the other in sort of a zig-zagging pattern.

I spent a while on the slight incline, watching the others and doing what they were doing, and then decided that I was ready for the bunny slope. I fell a lot, at first. I like to ride the edge of my abilities, and the surest way to know the edge of your abilities is to exceed them. Also a great way to improve. I was at it for a while until I got hungry, so I checked my skis and poles and had a burger at the diner. After lunch, I went back to the 'Holiday' slope for a few runs, and that's about when the sun started going behind the mountain. I didn't want to spend all day on the bunny slope, so I took one last ride on the chairlift and cut across to the "Central Express" lift.

Once at the top, I decided to look for a way down where I would get to do some real skiing, but also not kill myself (those were, in that order, my two goals for the day). An arrow to the left said, "Easiest way down", no doubt a message for all the newbies who had taken the wrong lift and didn't want to hurt themselves. Meh, not for me. Several arrows pointed in the other direction, many of them black, but, in keeping with my goals, I selected a blue rout that, if you look here, is labelled 'Alpine'.

It was quite a rush. I fell a few times, but after a while I started to get the hang of it. There was one part that was especially steep. I tried going sideways, but I would get going too fast, and when it came to turning around, I was at too much of an angle and it was too steep for me to pull off the turn with any regularity. I knew the proper thing to do would be to point myself straight down and jump side to side, but you'll remember my second objective. I wasn't confident that I could control my descent on such a steep, long hill. After that first run, I did the same one again, and then again, each time falling less and having more fun, but never quite satisfied with my performance on that one hill.

On my fourth run, I realized that I couldn't feel my face, my legs were tired, there was snow in one of my boots, and it was getting dark. My technique was improving, but I still always had trouble on that one part. I would have left then, but I didn't feel like walking all the way to where my car was parked along the road.

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

This is unusual for me to do, but today I'm going to blog about a random news story because I think you should read it. I remember at Dan Spence's funeral his kids mentioning how much their dad loved to eat popcorn. I'm not sure if it was microwave popcorn and I have no idea about a lot of the circumstances, but it's worth a look.

Friday, November 18, 2005

Maybe it's because I stay up late and get up late compared to most responsible adults. Maybe it's because whenever I drink alcohol I always stay up late. Maybe it's because I forgot to eat dinner.

Today was the last day of our volleyball season. There was a tournament today and Rob, our team captain was unaware that we were supposed to be there at 5:45 in stead of 7:30 (our usual time) for the last set of games before the tourney. I guess we forfeited those games. Our team record was dismal anyway; I don't think we could have pulled ourselves up much in the standings. Most of the team are pretty good players, we just always screw up. We made it to the semi-final round, and lost when we shouldn’t have. My first serve went straight into the net that game.

Anyway, after the game, four of us went to a bar and split a pitcher of Alaskan, hence the alcohol consumption. It was 9:00 at the time, so by the time I got home and showered off I had forgotten about dinner, and my stomach was full of liquid bread and water, so I didn't feel hungry.

I just lay on the couch watching Scrubs episodes for a while. Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure my insomnia isn't due to my sleep schedule: this past week I don't think I've gotten more than 8 hours a night, although maybe couch-potatoing until past midnight isn't exactly the sort of aerobic exercise my body feels the need to rest from.

I haven't done a real blog entry in a while, unless you count that last one, which wasn't very detailed and was more of a random brain dump. One reason I haven't been blogging that for the past few weeks I've had relationships on my mind. You know, the kind were a guy meets a girl and they get married and have a family. Relax, at this point, it's all mostly theoretical. It's not the kind of thing I just put on the Internet for all to see. It might have been Texas conference that started me thinking this way, and subsequently hanging out and talking with friends late into the night over roast beef, marshmellows, or fondue has probably fueled the fire.

But enough on that.

Another thing that might keep me up is guilt. Guilt that RFH gave me an "are you bleeding in a gutter?" call at 12:30 on Tuesday night, and it's almost 2:30 now, he's not home, and I have no idea if he had plans to take off for the weekend tonight or if he's dead.

Really I don't think that's it, though.

Last Sunday I was playing Prince of Persia: Sands of Time on my GameCube. I hadn't played video games in forever, but I had just ordered it on eBay on a whim because I remembered a former roommate of mine had had it on his PC and it looked fun.

Anyway, so Sunday afternoon I get home, check the mail, and there it is. (Apparently it had arrived Saturday.) So after playing for a few hours (it is indeed a fun game) I hear a knock at the door. I hit pause, get up, and open the door. "Hi," I said.
"Do you want me to continue the story?" said the prince's voice from the speakers. The game is told as a first-person narrative: when you die, he says "No no, that didn't happen." or something to that effect. I gave the guys at the door a sheepish smile, and the one in front proceeded to give me his spiel.

They were "from the Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter-Day Saints" and they were "here to tell me about the book of Mormon, which is another gospel of Jesus Christ that tells about events that took place about the same time as the New Testament, but here, in America."

I looked at him, told him I didn't believe what they had just told me, and went back to playing my video game.

I can't believe I did that. How incredibly selfish of me! I should have told them to come in and sit down, and then opened my Bible and told them about the book of Hebrews: how it's written to Jews in the first century who had become Christians, but wanted to go back to some of the old practices from the Law of Moses. The author is explaining how what they have in Christ is better than what they had in Judaism. There is a better High Priest, who enters into a better Tabernacle to offer a better sacrifice on a better altar. This new, better thing is in fact the basis of the old: the old things merely foreshadowed it, and were of themselves powerless to atone for sin. I should have told them what Jesus said to Nicodemus about divine Life, and the simple offer God makes so that we can become His children: we must accept the offering His Son made, because God will accept nothing less, and offering of our own labor is an insult to His love.

And then I would have asked them. what in this book of Mormon is better than that which I already have? How is the New Testament a mere foreshadowing that points to this book? I am His sheep, and I know His voice. Where is the Jesus I know in this book of Mormon? Or perhaps, this is "another Jesus whom [the Apostles] have not preached"? (2 Cor 11)

But I didn't. I didn't love them the way God loves them. He gave His Son to die for me, and I wasn't even willing to leave my game on pause. The two guys looked like born-and-raised Mormon stalk. I think it's entirely possible that they've never really heard the true Gospel of Jesus Christ.

Thursday, November 10, 2005

But he doesn't want to let me trick myself into thinking it was my own doing. That would, in the long run, be a curse, because it would increase my pride and sense of self-accomplishment, which is idolatry.

And so I notice this pattern in my life, wherein God blesses me, and I gradually (or at times rather rapidly) grow confident in myself and my accomplishments. Just when I think I've arrived, I fall flat on my face. I squirm and wriggle and sometimes complain, but I've hit an impenetrable wall and nothing I can do in my own rite can save me from myself.

And so I finally come to my senses, thank God for the reality check, acknowledge my total and complete lack of ability to help myself, and ask for the strength and wisdom to stand.

Then not only do I stand, but I run and leap and bound; you see God is showing off his ability to resurrect my dead dry bones in style.

I can soar like an eagle, and walk on water.

Until I look at the waves and I forget that I'm not the one holding me up, and I cry "Lord, save me!"

And then He does. You see, He loves me.

"And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose." -Romans 8:28

Monday, October 31, 2005

I gave the Gospel at the conference in Kerrville and they filled up the front row. I felt so loved and supported. A lot of prayer went into that talk (both mine and others'), and the Lord enabled me to share my appreciation of His love and work with those in attendance. It was an incredibly humbling experience. I knew from the minute I was asked that it wasn't in my power to accomplish anything or change anyone on my own, perhaps that was why I was willing to accept. That was kind of the point of my talk: Jesus is the true source of Life and without Him we can do nothing.

That's one crown that I have to cast at His feet even now: look at what Christ is doing in my life!

Kerrville was great this year. I really enjoyed the meetings, especially the Bible studies, which were in Revelation 1. I also enjoyed spending time with friends, talking and laughing and doing weird human tricks (see below if you dare).

Breaking of Bread was magnificent.

I flew into Dallas, stayed there overnight, and drove down the following evening. It was nice to spend some time with Caleb and the Smiths, and I got to know Christy, and talk with Trevor and Kevin.

The weather was beautiful. It reminded me of California. The fact that it's been raining constantly since I've gotten back to Seattle and daylight savings time just ended isn't helping at all.

It was good to see Anna, although we didn't really spend that much time together. I'll have to rectify that this Thanksgiving.

Two days was just too short to properly spend time with so many friends. Y'all had better all come to Yorba Linda.

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

This past weekend was spent at Seaside. It was a fun trip: I got to spend some time with friends.

Seaside

Pumpkin-head

Ruins
I didn't take too many pictures, but this was one of them.
One of the organized activities was a photo scavenger hunt in which we were given a pumpkin and a list of shots and then set loose in town. Here are the photos for each of the groups:

Thursday, October 06, 2005

I don't usually do this, but here's my "Listening to" section: Go download the latest Harvey Danger album, Little by Little (yes--It's free, legal, good, there's no DRM to "manage" your digitalrights, and the band wants you to do it). The reason they can (and want to) do this is that they currently aren't signed with a record label.

Musicians don't make much money when you buy their album, their cut is typically around 10%, and this goes first to recoup the cost of the contract. A record label will front a musician the money to produce an album, let's say it's $100,000. They can go and tell their friends they just signed a hundred thousand dollar record deal, which is true, but from that money, they have to pay for studio time to record, have it mixed, produce a master, etc., and all of these are usually "services" that the label supplies to the artist, for a fee. If you have a dinner meeting with your agent, he will pick up the check, and then turn around and bill that amount against your contract, plus whatever his hourly rate is. After all of this, the album goes to the shelves, and the artist gets a certain amount of each sale. By "gets," of course, I mean that his share of that money goes towards paying back the record label for the contract amount. THEN, once the label has gotten all their money back (plus their cut of album sales, plus all of the services they sold to the artist along the way), the artist starts seeing some of the money from album sales.

So, how do musicians make money? One word: concerts. The record label often gets a cut of this action too, if they act as the producer, but live performance has always been and is still today the primary source of a musician's money. So, how does one fill seats at a concert? Hmm... it would help if the artist had fans. Fans who had heard the artist on the Internet, radio, or CD, or... hmmm, what are all those funny little things people walk around carrying with wires that go to their ears? Anyway, the more exposure an artist gets, the greater their audience and fanbase and hence a larger pool of people willing to come to their concerts, buy their T-shirts, baseball caps and nose rings, most of which goes straight into the musician's pocket.

So, with the advent of viable Internet digital content distribution, the recording industry is in for a monumental change. The cost of getting music into the ears of millions is shrinking. Record labels suddenly find themselves becoming obsolete. They must change their business model, buy congress in order to enforce the old system (watch out for this--they have already purchased a few small European nations), or disappear altogether. What won't disappear is the music, it's just that the makeup over the big "MIDDLE MAN" stamped on the RIAA's foreheads is wearing off.

I'm not telling you to go participate in the unauthorized distribution of copyrighted work. Don't do that, it's copyright infringement (though it is not theft), and you would open yourself up to civil suit (but not criminal prosecution). I'm sick of people trying to redefine our perfectly good language to their own ends--but that's another rant.

Wow, that was long. And now, on to my real post.

Thursday nights I play volleyball. I'm on a team of six and we play in a league put on by my work. Today there were only three of us. I was a bit late because I had gotten distracted at home. I couldn't find my basketball shorts, so I had to wear some old jean shorts with a torn back pocket. I was starving when I got home. I forgot to bring a banana to work this morning, which is not a big deal, because I have package cereal at my desk, as well as yogurt in the fridge, and frozen dinners in the freezer. But I wasn't at my desk all day. I was in a lab in another building and I couldn't leave. Plus, when I get absorbed in a task, I have very little clue of anything going on around (or, in this case, inside of) me. I lose track of time and hunger is just another distraction that I ignore. My family can attest to this.

Anyway, so when I got home from work, I was really hungry, so I started making some french toast and chatting online with my sister-in-law while I caught up on some articles I'd seen on slashdot and digg. We discussed pizza and her new job, which she is enjoying. I also called my roommate to see if he had seen my shorts. He hadn't.

I left a bit late for volleyball, but I was able get into the gym and arrived just as the first game was about to start. It was a good thing I showed up when I did because there were only three of us. I didn't have any time to warm up or anything, and consequently I started the game off with a bad serve. It glanced off of my hand to the right and went out of bounds. Oh, well. The nice thing about playing 3-man volleyball is that it's pretty easy to tell whose ball it is, and each player gets a nice share of the action. Playing against teams of 5 and 6 when there are only three of you means you are constantly on the move when the ball is in play, and I mean that literally. I got some good exercise, and I had a lot of fun. Despite our numerical disadvantage we played very well. We played three 30-minute matches against different teams, which usually consist of one and a half to two games, rally score to twenty-five. We won four games out of six (fractions of games count as whole), and the ones we lost were pretty close. (This is better than our record with the whole team there.) The three of us were playing well: we were communicating well, and we were consistently sticking to three-hit (bump, set, spike) rallys, we weren't making stupid errors, and our serves were generally good.

I think playing in this league is really improving my skill. I would say I'm about average for the team, but the two players there tonight are both better than me in most respects. Playing with people who are better than you gives you examples to follow, and keeps your ego down, so you don't think you've 'arrived.' As a setter you're given decent passes as well as right-of-way to the second hit, and your good sets aren't wasted; and when spiking you more often see the ball floating in space perfectly poised for you to smack it down on the other side of the net. Speaking of which, starting to dink lot less and spike more often and more effectively.

I'll have to get down to California and test my mettle with the Lassen champs one of these days.

Sunday, October 02, 2005

Okay, so perhaps I should update this before all the cobwebs fossilize in dust strata.

I gave the Sunday School talk this morning in Tacoma. Okay, so it wasn't really Sunday School, since everyone below high school was downstairs in their actual Sunday School class at the time. I guess you could call it a sermon, in fact it fits the dictionary definition of the word quite nicely, but that's a bit scary, and there kind of an informal feel to it, so I think a more appropriate term would be Adult Sunday School Talk.

I started in Genesis 2:4-9, 2:15-17 and 3:1-7 with the creation and fall of man, pointing out that God created the universe, created man, gave him life, and a job to do in the garden of Eden. Then when Adam fell, he became dead due to sin, and was no longer able to have fellowship with God or tend the garden for Him.

Romans 5:12:

...through one man sin entered into the world, and death through sin, and so death spread to all men, because all sinned

So, we're dead: incapable of producing anything good for God, and enslaved to sin. (This is bad.)

Next, I recycled part of a talk that I gave in Buena Park for Sunday School back in 2003, and later also to the 8-and-under's at Lassen. Ezekiel 37 tells of a vision that the prophet Ezekiel had in which God demonstrates his ability to create life where there exists no other hope of life returning (a valley of dry bones). God uses this illustration to declare His life-giving power, and His promise to one day restore Israel to prosperity in their land, even though they had said "our bones are dried up and our flesh has perished. We are completely cut off." (Ezekiel 37:11)

The presentation is nothing more than a series of web pages with some animated GIFs and background WAV sounds that I threw together the night before the original talk, and as such, you can access them here, provided my computer is on (which it usually is these days). The sounds (which I think are the best part of the presentation) only worked in MSIE because I was using the <bgsound> tag (Firefox didn't exist back then and I was a MSIE fanboy, because let's face it, Netscape 4 sucked), so I changed the files to using <embed>, which seems to mostly work, with the exception that the loop="" flag doesn't seem to be honored for me on Firefox--in any case, if the man only breathes once for you, you know why, and that it shouldn't be that way.

Anyway, the first slide (title page) goes with v. 1-6, the 2nd slide is for v. 7-8, 3rd for v. 9, and fourth v. 10. It's a fun little presentation, especially when the sound works, and it breaks the monotany by giving some audio-visual illustration.

The point of reading Ezekiel 37 was to highlight the fact that God can impart life even to those who are hopelessly dead, which is exactly the position in which a sinner finds himself.

John 1:1-5, 10-13 proclaims that through Jesus, who is the creator and sustainer of life, the universe, and everything (the answer to which, incidentally, is 42) we can become the children of God. Romans 5:17-21 detail how Jesus' death can serve to restore life in a reversal of the effect of Adam's fall. Reading on to 6:12 (because most of my audience was already quite familiar with that concept), it explains what we are to do (or rather not do) with the new life that we receive through faith in Jesus Christ. We are not to live in sin, because sin is what made us dead in the first place. The whole point of having a new life is to be free from sin's slavery, but there's more.

Next I went to Ephesians 2 (yes, there was a lot of reading involved in this talk).
Ephesians 2:1-2 - We were dead in our sins, just like the dry bones in the valley, with no hope of life.
2:3 - We were enslaved to sin, not able or inclined to be righteous.
2:4-7 - God, who is rich in mery, and loves us, made us alive along with Christ (at His resurrection) and(!) gave us a place seated with Him in heaven, in order to show us the riches of His grace in his kindness toward us forever--not too shabby for someone who was just hopelessly dead.
2:8-10 - None of us did anything to deserve this gift of life, but we have been given it in order that we can do the work that God has for us to do.
Adam, along with his life, was given the task of tending the garden of Eden, and I bet he loved it. We too have been given a task to do with our new life.

1 John 5:1-3 - The natural state of God-given life is to obey His commandments; they aren't burdensome.

1 John 5:12-13

He who has the Son has the life; he who does not have the Son of God does not have eternal life. These things I have written to you who believe in the name of the Son of God, so that you may know they you have eternal life.

Saturday, September 10, 2005

So I'm going along about my merry life, tra-lala, when somewhere out of the blue0 she declares with a mischievious grin: "Tim, I have this urge to cut your hair." Gaa! My flowing auburn locks! "I want to spike it!" *Shudder*

I, naturally, responded in horror and disgust at the suggestion. Not only did I shrink back from the idea of spikes as not being my style, my reaction was mixed with self-defense: boyish spikey hair does not mix well with a full beard, and I had been nurturing1 just such a beard for about a month. Make me shave, will you, woman?2

Well, I would have none of that. Nevertheless, the words, once spoken, could not be bottled up again. A thousand nagging voices haunted my dreams3 and every waking moment. Nagging thoughts assulted my consciousness as I looked in the mirror each morning. I did need a haircut. In particular, the sides needed to be clipped soon, or they would start--nay, had started already--to poof out if I didn't take care to gel them down. Also, after volleyball or soccer, or Sunday morning children with their hands, all gel was rendered moot, and I had a '70's poofiness. Nor did my assailant relent in her barrage: despite all social impropriety of such an imposition, she repeated the suggestion. It began among her friends, but soon it came before her family (who are my friends), and not long after to the entirety of our shared peer acquaintance.

"And it came to pass, when she pressed him daily with her words, and urged him, so that his soul was vexed unto death"4

Now where was I? Ah yes, Hick's Lake. Well, the night before anyhow. I caved, so I shaved. Not all at once, though. I started with my moustache and chin, at which point I checked to see I I looked anything like Wolverine from the X-Men movies. I wouldn't leave it like that, but the thought had crossed my mind to go to wear it that way to work, just for laughs. Plus, it would annoy RFH to no end. No such luck, though. I don't make a convincing enough Logan, so I trimmed off the sideburns, washed up, and went to bed. In the morning I shaved with an actual razor, and it was then, when I saw the poofiness of my wild hair washed of natural oils and gel next to my now smaller-looking cleanshaven face, that I would have to say yes. But! She would have to ask me again. I was not going to volunteer for such a thing, or press her into it against her will.

As it happened, she asked me once more on Saturday. To her surprise and disbelief, I said yes. "Really? You'll let me spike it?" Really really.

She then somehow arranged (or had arranged) to have a set of clippers on hand, as well as some scissors, and at the stroke of eleven fifteen, we were headed downstairs as we were planning on cutting the hair near the kitchen and away from prying eyes. Somewhere along the line, Seth had joined us at the prospect of getting a free haircut (though he insisted despite our suggestions that his Pharaoh-esque goatee was strictly off-limits) and it was decided that he would be her "practice" run, so that we could all (she especially) gain confidence in her hair-cutting abilities, which I had recently discovered to be quite limited in scope: mostly canine, in fact.

Upon reaching the downstairs dining room, however, she discovered that it was full of "adults" as she called them, by which I suppose she meant people around the age of our parents. I've found in talking with "adults" and "old people" that despite age and infirmity, people generally go on the rest of their life subconciously thinking of themselves as twenty-something. But I digress.

Apparently all of these aforementioned adults presented a problem that prevented the haircuts from taking place downstairs. Personally, I didn't see a problem with cutting hair in front of them vs. everyone upstairs. In retrospect, they may have proved much more supportive and gotten just as much entertainment as the upstairs audience, but since she insisted, we set up shop outside the bathrooms upstairs and Seth sat down. At this point, and quite predictably, our small group of conspirators and onlookers became the focus of spectacle and entertainment for the rest of the young people for the rest of the evening.

Seth's haircut was rather simply, and quite quickly accomplished. There was one length for the top, and onother for the back and sides, and then a matter of trimming around the ears and across the neck.

Seth looking confident

Not so bad

Everyone's a critic
This shot also serves as the "before" picture for me.

The clippers made short work of it, and then it was my turn.

Digging right in

For my head, it was deemed necessary to use scissors for the top, in order to leave enough hair for the spiked look. The scissors were a bit dull though, and the onlookers seemed to be getting nervous, so Jenny recused herself citing inexperience, and TAB stepped up to the plate. He was able to locate a second pair of scissors which were better than the first, and though his technique elicited some criticism from certain onlookers, as well as himself, he pressed on towards the mark.

TAB to the rescue

Action shot

Blatant posing

The clippers

More cutting

Jenny back in the action

There was lots of fear, uncertainty, and doubt floating around as to the final outcome of the ordeal. Many of the onlookers thought I would end up having to buzz it all off in the end.

TAB kept hacking away

It was discovered that Andrea has a bit of experience with the clippers. After an initial debate as to whether or not she wanted to involve herself in such a potential catastrophe, her pity won out, and she lent a hand.

I really should have pinned the towel tightly around my neck, it was supposed to prevent hair from getting all over me.

If we can't laugh at ourselves, then we're in pretty bad shape.

Working her way around the back.

Inspection

Two cents

I'm trying to grow some of that hair back.

Shorter on the top

Looks okay from this angle

Double team

Bethany takes a closer look

Spectators

Ted offered to make an appointment with his 'stylist' (Marie) for me in the morning if necessary.

Touch-up

Final trim

Gel

Gel applied

First look

A note on the pictures: Lisa wishes you all to know that she took most of them, although Gerald took some, and Bethany, and I took some of Seth.

So there you have it. Sunday morning was abuzz with looks, glances, questions, and assurances that "it doesn't look all that bad" (yeah, thanks a lot). I think it turned out pretty well, though. I didn't get any double-takes at work (though possibly they were avoiding the issue, who knows?) At least it was free, right? And it was fun. I'm still not convinced that the whole spiked hair thing is "me," although it seems to be the style these days.

I got an e-mail from my mom the day after I got back inquiring about my "haircut experience." Word travels fast, apparently. Hopefully, this fills in the requisite details.

0 Or whatever color her randomness is. Some say it's blond, but I am skeptical of such a simplistic explanation.1 Read: "not shaving because I don't like to"2 No, ladies, this is not an accurate reflection of my inner monologue. It simply suits my bone-dry sense of humor to portray myself in this manner. It's my attempt at irony, and actually hints at the incongruity of myself as a chauvinist. Not at all dissimilar to a certain someone's fondness for the expression, "for shizzle."3 See? This is totally ridiculous. Pure melodrama if you ask me.
4 Did you seriously think I could resist the comparison?

Tuesday, September 06, 2005

There's a lot to write about, so I'll just start with the pictures. I have about two more posts fermenting in my head, but it's getting late, and I want to be at work at a reasonable time tomorrow. The rumors of my "haircut experience" will have to fester a bit longer.